Dignity
by Little.Broken.Wings
Summary: Three souls, four personalities, two bodies. These hearts are tied, and fate will have its way. Dignity is the difference between Pride and Shame. Thief, Death, Angst, Tender.
1. Loyalties and moralities

**_Loyalties and moralities are all just details. _**

"Your loyalties are questionable."

Malik peered up from his awkward angle on the sofa. He was stretched out over the leather seat on his back, his neck craned backwards over the cushion with his hair dangling off the edge, and his feet were rested where one should put their head. "What was that?"

Bakura huffed, not one to enjoy repeating himself. However, he seemed to be doing it rather a lot lately. "Your loyalties. Aren't you meant to be a devoted member of Team Pharaoh nowadays?"

Malik rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to the book he had been attempting to read. "I have no loyalties."

"Oh really?" Bakura leaned forward in his seat, and rested his elbows on his knees. He knew he had captured Malik in the conversation whether the blond would acknowledge it or not. "One would assume handing over your tomb keeper secret and millennium items to one particular party and withholding them from _another certain party _would suggest otherwise."

"How does that make my loyalties 'questionable'? I think that makes it pretty clear that I am up keeping with my Tomb Keeper fate… or whatever." Malik casually flipped the page of his book, not having read it.

"Well, that's what one would assume, however here you are. In my apartment,"

Malik's eyes finally left the pages of the book and locked with Bakura's.

"Your host's apartment, in fact your host's _father's _apartment."

"The point still stands that it is not the _Pharaoh's _apartment, nor is it any of his preppy cheerleader's,"

"Your host could be a cheerleader,"

"But you're not _talking to my host are you?" _Bakura's temper was fraying and Malik couldn't help the upturn of a smirk. "And do not hide behind the pretences that you are here for _him. _Malik you are here for _me_,and I want to know why."

Malik closed his eyes in a moment of contemplation, closing his book, and he rolled over so he was now stretched over the couch in a much more conventional manner. Then, he propped himself up on his elbows. "You want to know why?"

"No Malik, I don't want to know why. The former part of this conversation was merely for the purpose of hearing my own _voice_," the white haired man snapped and Malik chuckled.

"Beeeecaaaause…" he drawled out, knowing each vowel was like wringing Bakura's already taught temper, "Team Pharaoh is in America."

Bakura blinked once, then blinked twice.

"They're _what?!"_

"Surely I thought you kept tabs on this kind of thing Bakura…"  
"Why the bloody hell are they in _America?!"_

"San Francisco to be exact. And they're following up on some scary, green glowing cards that trap peoples souls and yada yada yada the same old story."

"You could have told me!"

"I am telling you."

"You could have told me _sooner."_

"Now's a good a time as ever, do you want to get take out? Y'know, I've been in Japan for a while now and I still haven't had sushi, and that just feels weird…"

"You're insufferable." Bakura smacked his knees and stood from his seat, walking into the kitchenette at the back of the small apartment. "And we're _not _getting sushi."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo

Ishizu and Odion had returned to Egypt swiftly after the events of Battle City, continuing their dutiful protection of the Pharaoh's tomb until Yugi and co. had successfully figured out what it was they were even meant to _do _with the knowledge they had obtained from Malik. All this information Bakura had obtained via lying dormant and listening from his host.

And what Bakura had concluded was that his plan was slowly falling into place despite the few bumps that had formed in the road.

Like, Team Pharaoh gallivanting to the other side of the world on some wild goose chase, following the misdeeds of some _kook _with pretty glowing cards. Bakura could hardly believe it. They should be here in Domino trying to trigger the Pharaoh's memories, not playing hero like a bunch of school children! Did they not take this seriously? Was the Pharaoh's existence merely another little side story that they'd return to when they'd exhausted all other _games_?

But then again maybe they were making the most out of their idolised hero, because rest assured once their precious Pharaoh dealt with Bakura, playtime would certainly be over.

The second irritating bump in Bakura's preverbal road was a certain 'reformed' ex-villain who, rather than sticking to his Tomb Keeper heritage as promised, had instead decided to remain in Domino.

But this was a bump that Bakura could live with…

Albeit Bakura would never admit to enjoying the company of the peculiar blond Egyptian out loud he wouldn't deny to himself Malik Ishtar was definitely worth keeping around, at least while his plans were temporally put on hold.

And as stated before Malik's loyalties were definitely questionable.

Why had he remained in Domino and told Yugi otherwise? Why did he insist on keeping company with Bakura's self? It wasn't because he still had villainous intentions towards the Pharaoh. No, that ship had long since sailed. And there was the fact that Malik refused to show or reveal any secrets that could possibly help Bakura or hinder the Pharaoh. It was almost like his morals were bipolar; however with Malik's history of mental… _qualities, _Bakura wouldn't cross bipolar disorder off the list of possibilities.

It irritated Bakura how little he knew about the blond, but rest assured one way or another, he _would _find out every dirty little secret Malik had lying in store.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooo

Ryou Bakura had dealt with a lot in his life. Including the untimely death of his mother and sister, his abrupt move to Japan, waking up in various places with worrying amounts of memory loss and the possession of an age old spirit. (And we could go on and list all the shit Ryou has dealt with due to said spirit's destructive motives but let's save time shall we?) But even though Ryou flirts with strangeness often, he was still rather unprepared to discover he had a new roommate, and he didn't have much of a say in the matter.

"Morning," the blond had chirped from Ryou's kitchen table. He had a book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. "I just finished boiling the kettle. Do you want me to make you some tea?"

"Who are you?" Ryou blurted out, his hands twitching for something he could possibly use as a weapon against this oddly casual intruder.

"Seriously, Bakura? You didn't think to tell him?" the blond looked pointedly at Ryou as if waiting for a response. Ryou just continued to stare, dumfounded.

"Excuse my rudeness then," the blond was smiling again and this time walking towards Ryou with an outstretched hand. "We've met before, remember?" the boy spoke as if addressing an elderly man or young child. It took Ryou a moment, but up close he did in fact recognise this man, but his name and where they met currently escaped him…

"I'm Malik Ishtar."

And the memories came flooding back with worrying speed. Even when Ryou had regained control over his mind and body once more after his frightful trip to the shadow realm, everything from that time seemed a little hazy and a little confused. But Malik was right; they had met before. They'd even spoken briefly on the trip back home, and Duke had not spared a second to inform Ryou that Malik and the spirit had been working together at one point. Ah, yes, this definitely all made sense now. But wasn't Malik meant to be good now? Didn't they banish the evil alter ego that had possessed him in a way so very similar to Ryou's own demons?

"Ah, now that looks a little more like recognition!" The blonde's smile was now a grin and when it was clear he was not going to get the handshake he had offered he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned back casually. "For simplicities sake, I'm not going to call you 'Bakura', so how do you feel about 'cotton ball'?"

"I-wh-wait what? Malik why are you in my home? Didn't you go back to Eygpt?"

"Details!" Malik spun on his heel and returned to his cup of tea. "Now you never answered my question: would you like some tea?"

"Answered _your _question?" Ryou asked in disbelief but just as his temper was beginning to frazzle everything went a little fuzzy and Ryou wasn't about anymore.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo o

"What part of, 'Don't talk to the host' does your simple mind not understand?" Bakura barked once he was in full control again.

"Ah~ you're awake. Took your time, didn't you?" Malik refused to look behind him to face who he now knew to be Bakura. Instead, he focused on his tea, which was much stronger than the last one he had but still not quite right… Maybe it needed more sugar? No… Maybe he should try it with milk?

"Are you even bloody listening to me?!"

Malik huffed and put the mug back on the kitchen table, placing his now free hand on his hip and turned to face Bakura with an utterly bored expression. "I'm to live in his home and not speak to him? That hardly seems fair,"

"Malik… the kid has _been_ my home since he was ten-years-old, I'm sure he is more than familiar with _unfairness," _

Malik faltered at that. Bakura was willingly admitting his way wasn't the righteous way? Hm, well there was a first time for everything, right? However as Malik gazed over Bakura's tense face he wondered if maybe this wasn't the first time. Aha! It wasn't.

"You have a tendency to protect your host, don't you?" Malik flipped the topic with ease, watching as Bakura's face turned from anger to mild annoyance.

"What are you on about, now?"

"Back in Battle City," Malik tapped a finger to his chin as if trying to recall something, "you refused to let me use Ryou's body as a sacrifice in our duel against the Pharaoh."

"Firstly that was not _our _duel that was _my _duel_. _And I chose to play it _my_ way," the spirit growled lowly, apparently unaware of the sudden conversation diversion.

"And you lost it just the same~" Malik hummed. "Now, are you going to be as indecisive as your host or would you like some tea?"

Bakura didn't give Malik an answer, at least not a verbal one.

However, he did reply with a particularly loud slammed door as he exited the room.


	2. You can't banish a mental disorder

_**You can't banish a mental disorder**_

Ryou had never liked the lapses in his memory. The times when he would be doing something completely mundane and then find himself in a horrible situation were by far the worse. More often than not, though, he would often find himself in his apartment or bed. It was a strange consideration the spirit always had; to make sure Ryou knew where he was when he awoke. The few times Ryou woke up in strange scenarios were usually out of the spirit's hands or a key point of a plan.

Either way, he didn't like it.

He had always assumed that when the spirit had control of his body he was up to no good, doing misdeeds and causing havoc for his friends… the last thing he expected was the spirit to be out making acquaintances and recruiting new _roommates. _And the thought troubled Ryou more than he cared to admit. You see, all this time Ryou had reasoned the spirit was an un-reasonable force of evil, hell-bent on destruction, but this new development seemed oddly… human. And normal. And other than a little unsettling to Ryou's own personal life, the act was not destructive at all.

_Not every moment of my life is dedicated to making yours a nightmare, landlord, _the unsettling voice called from the back of Ryou's head, causing him to shiver and shake off that particular train of thought. Despite having lived with the other in his head for the better part of seven years, he still managed to let his thoughts wander, even when he knew the other was listening.

Gathering himself back up, he pulled on the strap of his messenger bag and continued down the chilly streets. The road was layered with a thin sheen of frost, and the trees that lined the way were barren and dark, twisting up in a stark contrast against the pale grey sky. The simple task of going to the shop had led him to ponder on the thoughts that had plagued him… As far as he could tell, Malik had been living with them for two weeks now and Ryou had barely been conscious for a second of it… It made him wonder what on earth the former-thief and former-tomb keeper got up to.

That's hardly any of your concern.

Ryou frowned at the intrusion on his thoughts again and hurried up his pace. He knew the sooner he was inside, the sooner Bakura would take over once again. Of course, the spirit left going outside in the cold to his host…

Once the apartment complex was in sight Ryou's pace quickened to a jog. He pushed the front door open and continued to jog lightly up the stairs, his once shivering self now warming up under his layers of clothes. Once he reached the door of his own flat, his numb fingers fumbled with the keys for a moment before gaining control and successfully managing to swing the door open. Just as the door opened, the world began to fall out of definition just as he had assumed it would. The world blurred in and out of focus before he was pushed aside.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oo

"Welcome back~" Malik cheered in a traditional greeting, peering over his shoulder to see the flushed white haired man stripping off his outer clothes. "What happened to you?"

Bakura huffed and dumped Ryou's clothes and bag on the sofa before swinging the small plastic bag on his wrist and walking over to the small kitchenette. "He decided to run… the rest of the way," he explained with a grunt.

Malik raised an eyebrow; in his time living here he had discovered the host could be particularly… odd, at times. "Riiight, did you get what I needed?"

"Yes, although I fail to see the point… No matter how extravagant a dish you attempt, you will never be any good," Bakura criticized blandly and earned a glare from the blond.

"At least I'm trying to learn!" Malik protested as he took the plastic bag from the other and started to go through to check that the thief hadn't forgotten anything vital until something caught his eye. He pulled out a clear bottle and read the label, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why did you buy vodka?"

"What? Hm…" Bakura's attention had been momentarily distracted by the TV atop the fridge before it was brought back to the other. "I've never seen you drunk. I thought it could be amusing considering at the best of times you talk like a drunken buffoon."

Malik decided not to dignify that remark with a response and started to unpack the ingredients onto the counter top. Bakura's attention stayed on the TV until he finally had the sense to perch himself on a stool, while the blond busied himself with attempting to fight a battle he was bound to lose.

Bakura snorted a little as Malik cursed under his breath for the umpteenth time. He was obviously struggling and kept running from the stove over to a set of papers he had perched awkwardly against the bread bin.

"_Shit,_ I wasn't meant to put the rice in with the meat…_" _

Despite his better judgment Bakura acknowledged the other's distress, "What are you even trying to make?"

"Hayashi Raisu," Malik replied offhandedly as he thoroughly went through the printed notes.

Bakura raised an eyebrow, having known the dish but whatever it was Malik was preparing looked very unlike what he knew. "…The rice and meet go separate. Actually… I think most dishes served with rice don't actually cook them in the same pot,"

"I know that _now." _Malik snapped back, and Bakura felt his lips twitch into a smirk; it was a rare thing for him to wind up the other.

"I told you it was hopeless… surely there was a picture you could of used for guidance."

"On the laptop yes but your host doesn't have a damned printer!" Malik growled as he started to tear up the notes and then pour them into the pot on the stove.

"…What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Bakura leaped from the stool and stared, as Malik apparently seemed to have snapped completely.

"Giving up!" Malik yelled as he frantically grabbed at the cooking utensils and started to throw them into the pot too.

"You bloody lunatic, you're going to cause a fire!" Bakura growled before darting around the counter island and grabbing the blonde's arms. Malik threw his head back and started to laugh inanely, "Cooking is for women anyway!"

Bakura managed to successfully swing the other around and away from danger, swivelling back towards the stove. Quickly, he turned everything that could potentially cause a fire off before he turned around again to stare at the blond with a seething growl. He happened to quite like this apartment, and for the blond to use his things—his _host's _things—with so little consideration…

Malik had fallen against the counter top, his face buried in his arms, laughing hysterically. So much so he almost sounded like he was crying.

"You're an utterly hopeless fool," Bakura snarled before walking around the other and towards the bedroom, allowing his grip on the host's body to fall away and watched as things began to blur around him. He wasn't going to deal with Malik when he was in this state. He knew it best to leave the blond alone before things got terribly out of control.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo

Ryou felt his body come back to him with a rather sudden jolt. He wasn't exactly sure why until he found that his body had been rather unceremoniously dumped face first on the bed just between the transitions of souls. Ryou huffed at the spirit's lack of consideration and pulled himself into a sitting position, calming his beating heart. He blinked and placed a hand to his chest, his heart was thudding under his shirt… had the spirit been angry?

"Bakura!" The bedroom door suddenly swung open, revealing Malik standing there like a coiled spring.

Ryou felt his thudding heart go suddenly still. During Malik's stay Ryou had come to know what he called Malik's 'half state'. It was a strange deluded state the blond would get himself into when stressed or annoyed or sometimes utterly unprovoked. It was a cross between his normal self and the darker half that had been banished to the Shadow Realm back in Battle City. It caused the blond to become utterly untameable and unreasonable, and Ryou had learnt the hard way Bakura had no intentions of being around when the blond threw himself into this deranged tantrum. So Ryou was often left to deal with the rampaging blond.

"Ugh," The blond looked at Ryou in distaste. "You," he spat in annoyance, obviously having been looking for the other soul that inhabited Ryou's body. Without another condescending word, the blond left the room and stormed back into the living area, giving Ryou the opportunity to scramble off the bed with the intentions of getting out of the apartment until the blond had calmed down. He hurried into the lounge to see Malik throwing things carelessly around the kitchenette, but Ryou paid no mind and instead focused on gathering his coat and other things from the sofa where the spirit had carelessly dumped them.

"Wait," the voice called from the other side of the room, and Ryou hesitantly turned around to face the half state. Malik was leant over the counter of the island that separated the small kitchen from the lounge, pointing a clear bottle in Ryou's direction. "Open this for me."

Ryou slowly turned and walk towards the other, glad there was a countertop between them, as he reached out and took the bottle from the blond. He eyed the bottle with concern before doing as the other commanded, and his worry hitched up another notch. "Vodka?"

"Yes, well done cotton ball you can read. Now open it for me would you?"

Ryou hesitated again. Was giving the half state alcohol a particularly good idea? No. He didn't need to think about that very long at all… giving alcohol to Malik's half-mad self was not a good idea at all. Without thinking, he turned and quickly headed towards the front door, grabbing his keys and shoes as he went, deciding to forget his jacket for now.

"Hey!" the blond growled, and just as Ryou had managed to get his hands on the door, his whole body was slammed roughly against it. "Cotton ball, really now, you shouldn't test my patience. I've been an awfully good tenant so far, haven't I stayed out of your way? Much more than Bakura has I must say. Now, it would be a shame if I had reason not to be such a good little tenant, so be a good _landlord_and hand me the bottle again," the blond hissed into Ryou's ear in a scarily similar tone to the one Bakura used to address him. "Oh, and open it for me too if you wouldn't mind," He added as an after thought.

Ryou decided to forgo being a good influence and nodded his head obediently just before the blond swung him around and pushed his back against the door. Malik stepped back, giving Ryou his space, and then he held out his hand expectantly, waiting for Ryou's compliance.

Ryou dropped the shoes he held in one hand to grip the bottle with both hands now, his palms sweaty from the initial panic he felt for being around the uncontrollable blond, and then twisted the cap off with little difficulty and handed it to Malik. To Ryou's surprise, Malik didn't take the bottle. Instead, he stared at it, his smooth, tanned forehead crinkled in deep thought… he actually looked a little pained. Eventually those colourful eyes travelled up to look at Ryou, his teeth gnawing into his own lips, and again Ryou found reason to be scared. The blond looked like he was trying to restrain something, to stop something from pouring out or exploding from him.

"M-Malik?" he stuttered out despite himself, feeling genuine concern for Malik's well being even though he was caught up in his half state.

Malik chuckled and shook his head. "No… I don't think so."

"…W-what?"

Suddenly a large, tanned hand grabbed his face and slammed Ryou's head against the wooden door much rougher than before. He felt his neck crack painfully at the sudden forceful motion and the open bottle of vodka fell from his hand. He heard it smash against the floor, falling into hundreds of tiny glass splinters. Ryou barely had a moment to react before the world blurred and fizzled around him, and for once he gladly handed over control to the spirit.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooo

**_A/N who's that I spy? A psyco in the sky~_**


	3. Even the best men fall flat

**_Even the best men fall flat on their faces_**

Bakura grabbed the hand that gripped his face and forced it back as far as it would go until the other let out annoyed sound of pain and jerked away. Once the other was a safer distance away, Bakura ran his hands through his hair checking for any blood. To his relief, at most he would just have a bad bump and a headache for a day or two. His attention was brought back to the situation at hand when he heard a low chuckle across from him. He stared at the blond who was now hunched over, his unruly tresses falling down into his face and his shoulders shaking as the ungodly sound vibrated lowly from his chest.

"I was wondering when you would turn up," he said, slowly straightening himself back up, his head lolling to one side and an inane grin stretched across his features. His usually relatively straight hair now stuck up like that of a demented punk rock star, and his eyes seemed slanted and empty.

"I could say the same to you," Bakura spat and pushed away from the door, not liking feeling so trapped, and walked around the other fearlessly. "How exactly are you back?" he threw back over his shoulder, moving into the kitchenette and putting a considerable amount of distance between him and the blond.

The other chuckled once more, "Again, I could ask you same thing, I thought you were long since banished by myself no less,"

"I have back up plans and resources, unlike you. I don't just blunder into a situation, guns blazing and hoping for the best,"

"Assumptions! If I didn't have back up plans, then how would I be here?"

Bakura stared at the other with a blank expression before a grin broke onto his face. "You don't even know, do you?"

The smirk was wiped off the tanned face instantly and replaced with a glare, but he remained silent, causing Bakura to break into laughter. "I didn't think so, just another lucky mistake on your part,"

The blond kept glaring and opened his mouth to spit back a retort, but a sudden pained expression crossed his face and he grabbed his forehead with a groan.

Bakura raised an amused eyebrow, "Oh? Leaving so soon? Just as I thought, you're weaker than ever." He chuckled lowly once before allowing his face to become stony and serious again, staring at the other with icy eyes. "Remember this, Darkness; if you ever touch my host again, I will personally see to it that you don't come back from the hole you came from."

Said 'Darkness' glared spitefully at the other, his left eye twitching as pain consumed his head, as if something were punching his skull from the inside out. "We'll see about that," he managed to bite out before his pained expression suddenly went lax and he fell to his knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Bakura watched the now still form with caution for a moment, before slowly walking over to what was Malik once more. He pulled at the blonde's shoulders and the other rose in a zombie-like trance but showed no sign of acknowledgment. With an annoyed _'tsk' _Bakura lead Malik to his temporary room and laid him down. They hadn't even drunk a drop of alcohol, yet Bakura was still babying the blond like a drunken buffoon.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo

Malik had watched as much American and Japanese media as he could possibly handle in his time on the surface. From the mainstream anime's and Hollywood films to the twisted Japanese occult flicks and B movies of America, Malik had ingested a twisted amount of Eastern and Western knowledge. Because of this, he was pretty sure he knew what a hangover felt like; he at the very least knew what one looked like.

Staring at himself in the mirror, the tired look in his eyes, the messy hair, and the pale complexion, plus the throbbing in his skull and the vomit that he had just flushed down the toilet, Malik had concluded that he had had a night 'well spent.' However, Malik failed to see the benefits of the blasted alcohol considering he couldn't for the life of him remember what had happened the night before. Between failing at cooking and the smashed bottle in the living room, Malik was struggling to connect the dots, and what was worse was for some reason Bakura or Ryou had slept with their bedroom door locked. Malik had only tested the door once but quickly deciding whoever had locked the door obviously didn't want him around, and he figured it best to find out what on earth he had done wrong before he wandered in on a possibly terrified host or significantly pissed off thief. Neither of which were exactly appealing considering Malik's current headache, so instead he cleaned himself off in the bathroom sink and found himself some breakfast. Odd… wasn't a loss of appetite to be expected when hung over? That said, Bakura had insisted Malik not take every word and detail of the movies he watched to be of exact truth or fact, so again he decided to ignore yet another detail. He never was one for details.

He kept himself busy, eating breakfast, watching TV and reading through some of Ryou's many comics but he soon became restless, annoyed that neither of the two souls have ventured out of their room. He kept trying to relieve his boredom, flicking through TV channels he knew held no promise. He even entertained the idea of cleaning, but once he stood in front of the pile of washing… including a pan full of rice, meat and what he could only decipher as paper… (Oh wait. Yeah, they were his notes… at least he remembered _that _bit.) He decided against it, it was much too strenuous a task, and Ryou seemed to enjoy his chores, so why deprive the little cotton ball of such a bountiful amount of cleaning~

Malik had soon found himself sat upside down on the sofa, apparently his now customary way to sit when dealing with boredom, flicking through the pages of some book he cared not for, when he finally heard the creak of the door followed by some quick shuffling footsteps before the hurried click of the bathroom door locking. He raised a fine eyebrow; it was obviously the host, _Bakura_ didn't _shuffle _nor did he _hurry._

The now irritated Egyptian manoeuvred himself into a more conventional sitting position and peered over the back of the sofa, staring intently at the bathroom door. It was noon, and this was the first sign he had gotten that his two roommates were not in fact dead, which he had reasoned at some point during the day was actually a likely scenario. After only a couple of minuets, the bathroom door shyly opened again to reveal the doe eyed host, looking more like a deer caught in headlights than ever before. Malik's eyebrow was still raised in peeved curiosity, and when it became clear the white haired boy was not going to move from the bathroom threshold, Malik huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Where have you been?"

"M-my room?" Ryou supplied nervously, and Malik nearly laughed.

"You don't sound so sure," he said, almost amused but his patience had run thin. He lived in this apartment for amusement and entertainment, neither of which he was going to get if both host and spirit alike decided to keep themselves holed away! "_Why _have you been in your room _all day?" _he asked and noticed the boy didn't even seem to be listening to him, instead his eyes were flitting to the side as if he were talking to someone else… which it appeared he was.

"You honestly don't remember a thing?" the sudden change in demeanour and voice nearly took Malik aback, he'd never witnessed such a quick change between the two before, but the blond didn't let his shock show at all. He merely remained passive, and forced his normal smirk onto his face at the appearance of the ancient spirit. "Remember _what_?" he asked with an air of disinterest, it was always best to keep up appearances with Bakura around, even if in truth he was dying to know what had happened.

After a minuet of scrutinised staring from Bakura, Malik felt himself begin to squirm, right before the thief abruptly stopped staring and simply waved his hand, dismissing the topic. "It's nothing. Have you eaten?"  
Malik's patience was now worn out completely. "Dammit, Bakura, what _did _happen? Your host looked at me like he'd seen a ghost! What on earth did I _do?"_

"Calm down," the spirit instructed, his fare eyebrows furrowing in warning. "We don't need it happening again that's for sure."

There was something much darker in Bakura's voice than Malik had been expecting. Surely a few drunken mistakes were not worthy of such a cold shoulder act from the white haired duo… "Uh…" he suddenly fumbled over his words, annoyed at himself for his own failure in communication. "The um, what does your host call it? Half state?"

To Malik's interest, Bakura seemed to relax, which was odd considering Malik hadn't noticed Bakura had even been tense. Slowly, the spirit wandered closer to the sofa, seeming much more at ease, even if his eyes did never leave Malik's own. "Not quite." He shook his mess of white hair. "I think you went full blown… psycho."

Malik slowly took the information, like trying a new food for the first time. He sheepishly chewed it and swirled it around his mouth before deciding he quite hated the taste. "Well that's not very good is it?" His smirk and amused tone hid his repulsion.

Bakura, again, surveyed Malik like he would a wild animal. "Not very good at all," he said flatly. "Looks like you're going to have to move out," he added flippantly before turning heel and heading back to that blasted bedroom of his. This time, Malik was up like a bullet and around the sofa so fast he caught his toe on the corner. With a curse and a stumble Malik lurched forward to grab Bakura's arm and off balance them both, the force causing them to collide with the back of the sofa painfully.

"Bloody hell, Malik!" Bakura exclaimed, narrowing his eyes at the blond.

"You're not throwing me out!" Malik argued, his grip never faltering on the spirit's arm.

"I am if your deranged imaginary friend is back!"

"Why?! Did he touch a precious hair on your damned host?!"

Bakura opened his mouth quickly to reply, but snapped it back shut, his brown eyes stared heatedly into Malik's, fuming with anger. They burned so bright they almost seemed red, but Malik didn't unleash his grip on Bakura's pale arm. Instead, he turned his attention to how easily his fair skin pinked under his grasp.

"You and your damn host…" he mused as if their sudden shouting contest hadn't just happened. "I swear, he's as important to you as your ring sometimes." The sudden harsh smack across Malik's face was so unexpected the blond actually gasped, and clutched at the side of his face in pure shock and a little bit of awe. Bakura had hit him?

"I don't give a bloody damn about my _bloody_ host," he seethed, his face so close to Malik's own it made something boil deep inside of Malik. Anger. Anger boiled deep in the pit of his stomach and made him want to throw Bakura against the sofa and… beat the shit out of him. Yes, hitting Bakura was just what he wanted to do.

"You fucking hit me!" Malik threw his fist back before imbedding it in the surprisingly soft flesh of the spirit's stomach. Bakura let out a surprised '_oof_' before stumbling back as Malik used his other hand, the one that had been holding Bakura's arm, to throw the spirit back.

Once he regained a fraction of himself, Bakura looked up with those red eyes and growled. "Good… punch. So you're not just a pretty face…"

"I would be much more impressed with your _bark _if your _bite_ wasn't so damn pathetic." Malik snapped back but before Bakura even attempted to bark back this time he threw his whole body weight at Malik and threw the blond to the floor, the movement effectively winding them both.

"Ugh, you oaf!" Malik huffed out before hauling Bakura's shoulders to the side and rolling over so he was now straddling the other, pinning his shoulders to the ground. "You fight like a teenage girl," Malik finally regained his composure and grin, feeling much more at home on top.

"At least I don't dress like one," Bakura jolted forward to try and shock Malik off of him, but the attempt went in vein as Malik's physical body strength simply outweighed his own. Landing on his back, he let out a frustrated sigh.

"All talk, no walk~" Malik grinned, watching the other struggle beneath him before his face went suddenly stony and serious. "You're not throwing me out,"

Bakura threw his head back and laughed until he became breathless with Malik's weight on his chest. "Of course I'm not…" he mumbled when he had calmed down, "At least not while those fools are in America… I'd be far too bored." Malik's grin split across his face and felt the most genuine it had felt all day, it was good to win.

They stayed like that for a while, Bakura staring at the ceiling and Malik staring at… well, staring at Bakura.

Malik tried to tell himself it was normal, that this fit into their twisted relationship, but between the bitter taste of his darker self being back and the adrenaline of having pinned Bakura beneath him, he could think of a variety of choice words to describe the situation. 'Normal' was not one of them.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooo

**_A/N: in other news, sexual tension induced fight scenes are hot. _**


	4. You can't measure a man's spirit or soul

**_You can't measure a man's spirit or soul, can you?_**

The spirit had been unusually dormant in the back of Ryou's mind this morning, and despite what you might assume, this actually put the student more on edge than usual. A quiet spirit was a thinking spirit, and a thinking spirit was never a good one.

However, Ryou decided, as the clock slowly reached for noon, that he couldn't lie in bed all day and wait for the spirit to take control, especially as it looked as if the spirit had every intention of staying in his Soul Room or… wherever he went to think.

Reluctantly,Ryou forced himself out of his bed and wandered out into the apartment, slowly peering around for Malik, but there was no sign of the blond, not that he was surprised. Malik was as quiet as an elephant on roller-skates, and Ryou hadn't heard a peep all morning, so it seemed the blond, too, was having a lie-in.

Since the situation with Malik's darker half, the spirit had taken control of Ryou daily and routinely, not giving Ryou much time in his own body. Ryou wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed but was immensely happy for the winter break; he couldn't afford to miss much more school. He continued about the apartment, wandering to the small kitchenette to prepare breakfast. Well, lunch now.

He moved about the cupboard, looking for anything that would make a decent meal, but with the spirit in control of his body so frequently lately it seemed he had once again neglected shopping. With a sigh Ryou found some crumpets and shoved them in the toaster before putting the kettle on; it was turning out to be more like breakfast anyways.

He stood and waited patiently for both the toaster and kettle when suddenly ghostly fingers caressed his neck. The familiar weight of the ring around his neck was gone, and he heard it clanging against the tiled kitchen floor. Ryou looked down, startled, staring at the ring now on the floor, all its spikes splayed out like a squashed spider. The sudden noise in the silent apartment had sent Ryou's nerves on edge and he took a moment to calm himself and relax. The string he kept the ring on was very old. It must have just given way, he was sure he kept some spare string in the drawer by the sink…

He turned and was greeted with the bare tanned chest of Malik Ishtar. Ryou actually gasped out loud, genuinely surprised with the tanned boy's sudden tact in stealth. Malik was, as mentioned before, not the quietest of roommates, so how on earth had he…?

"Don't look so _frightened," _the warped voice finally spoke up, signally to Ryou that this was not in fact Malik Ishtar, but rather his darker half. With his nerves already drawn tight, his adrenaline quickly came into play and he spun and ducked down to grab the ring off the floor. A booted foot came down and crashed down on the golden ring, stopping Ryou's advance.

_Sod the ring. Get out. _He scolded himself and attempted to dart around the psychopath. Unfortunately, he was much to slow and the other had grabbed both of his arms and forced him up against the counter top, crushing the small of his back, "I _said, _don't look so _frightened,_" the voice repeated, however this time he sounded almost… offended?

Ryou looked up at the slanted empty eyes and wild hair and wondered how he ever mistook this man for his roommate; they were painfully different in appearance, especially since they shared the same body.

"That's better," a grin spread across the tanned face, like a crescent moon. "How're you doing, cotton ball? Sorry about your ring." He kicked his foot and sent the ring sliding across the tiled floor, far out of reach. "Can't have that pestering thief getting in our way again, can we?"

"I-in the way of w-what?" He was beyond surprised to hear his own voice and just as annoyed at the stutter. He frowned to try and appear more demanding and less like a shaking lamb, however this simply seemed to amuse the other.

"Oh wow, determined little cotton ball," the twisted version of Malik puffed out his cheeks and frowned, mimicking Ryou's expression and causing Ryou to gape at the childish imitation.

"Do you mind?!" He began to struggle against the other, suddenly a lot less intimidated by this man.

"Aha! But I do~ I just want to talk to you, cotton ball."

"Stop calling me that!" Ryou yelped, sick and tired of the childish nickname Malik had so fondly given him.

"Ah… How come I'm not allowed to use it and my lesser self can? What would you prefer? Landlord? _Yan-do-no-shi-sama~_" he drew out the last nickname in a teasing singsong manner making Ryou's cheeks and temper flare.

"I'd rather you not call me a thing!"

"Bakura? Ryou? No one really calls you by your real name, now do they?" the shadow mused, pushing Ryou up against the counter again when the smaller boy continued to struggle. "Bakura Ryou, or in your home country, _Ryou Bakura_, right? Which do you prefer? My, aren't names strange…?"

Ryou gawked at the other's wondering and conversational tone. Was this seriously the same violent man he had dealt with before?

"See, I have a problem with my own name," the shadow began again. "My lesser half, _Malik, _is not so keen to share an identity with me, though I must admit I too grow tired of being grouped with him by that old tiresome name. However, _unlike _him I still acknowledge in truth we are one and the same. So help me cotton ball, I'd like to acquire a name,"

Ryou continued to stare in silence until his voice slowly came back to him; "w-why would I help you?" he begun but the other was quick to reply.

"I'll call you Ryou." He offered, his harsh grip on Ryou's arms slackening somewhat. "I mean, that's fair is it not? I'll acknowledge your true name if you help me identify with my own."

"…But why me? Can't you do it yourself?"

"Nu-uh~" Again that mocking tone, "You're the master of English and Japanese and somewhere in that muddled head there's even some knowledge of Egyptian and Arabic. I mean, I should know! I had a good poke around in there when I got the chance," One hand now left Ryou arm to poke his temple, irritatingly.

Ryou reeled his head back to get away from the annoying touch, feeling like he was back in elementary school with a bully on his chest. "Fine! Just stop that, would you, please?"

"So polite even when so irritated… How peculiar," Finally the shadow stepped back, releasing Ryou from his grasp but still keeping him cornered in the kitchenette and far out of reach of the ring. He spread his arms wide and Ryou was reminded of the fact the shadow was, for whatever reason, topless. "Come on then, _Ryou. _Name me!"

Ryou pondered over Malik's name for a moment, the idea of calling the shadow 'Ishtar' occurred to him but he didn't feel the goddess of _love _was a befitting name for this deranged man. He only thought on it a short while before answering, "It's rather simple really; Marik," Ryou supplied and the other arched a curious blond eyebrow at him.

"Explain."

"W-well, the Japanese language has no sound for 'R' and in translation from English or plenty of other languages, the 'R' is often replaced with an 'L.' Marik is an actual Arabic name … so… I-I don't know I can think of a better one…" Ryou mumbled. He wasn't quite sure if his facts were straight, he knew surprisingly little about the Arabic language in truth.

"No." The other tapped his chin in contemplation before that splitting grin was back. "Marik, I like it." He clasped his hands together, and suddenly the toaster jumped to life beside them, causing both of their heads to turn. "Breakfast! I haven't eaten in… I... I don't think I've ever eaten. What are we having?" The deranged shadow—or rather_, Marik_—hurried across the kitchenette excitedly and leant on the counter, peering into the toaster.

"_I'm _having crumpets," Ryou explained, still uttering baffled by this man'sseemingly carefree behaviour.

"Great! They sound as good a food as any to start off with, I'll have some too."

Ryou's brow furrowed in confusion, but he decided it best to keep Marik in this happy and carefree state. After all, he was much more appealing than he had been on their first encounter. His hand subconsciously went up to rub the back of his head, where it had collided painfully with the door and he winced at the memory. "R-right then… Of course." Ryou went about his normal routine, except now he was making tea and crumpets for two rather than for one. Once they were done, he set them down on the counter.

Marik wasted no time at all before digging into his food and drink, and Ryou too hurriedly ate his food. When both of them were about half way done with their respected meals, Marik looked up, his mouth full of crumpet and his nose wrinkled. "This is disgusting." He spat the remainder of his mouthful onto his plate and Ryou pulled a face.

"You managed to eat that much! What's the problem now?" He gaped in distress at the other's poor table manners.

"I thought it might get better," he said, pushing the plate away. "I was wrong."

Ryou finished his meal in silence, feeling insanely awkward and anxious. He wanted desperately to put the ring back on and to let the spirit deal with this strange situation, but the ring lay on the other side of the kitchen. And to make it worse, there was a psychopath between them.

"I like my name," Marik suddenly spoke up again. "Use it. Ask me a question. Ask 'Marik' a question."

Ryou fumbled over his words for a moment, not sure what on earth one was expected to ask a murdering alter ego who had just popped in for lunch. He gazed over the other with a perplexed expression. Before he could stop himself, the words escaped him, "Marik, why is your hair so big?"

"Because that's where my soul is," he replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"…W-what?!" Ryou spluttered, and to his surprise, the shadow stared at him with a sincerely serious expression.

"Surely you know?" Marik questioned, tilting his head to the side.

Ryou raised an eyebrow. "That your soul is in your hair?"

"Not just mine… _Everyone's._ When souls exchange in a body, their hair changes, right?"

Ryou pondered over this newfound information, and to his horror, it made sense so far.

"The Pharaoh, Yugi, you, me, Malik, and the thief; we all differ in hair when we 'change' annnnnd~" He was speaking playfully again, which made Ryou wonder if he was even in the slightest bit serious. "The more soul you have the more…_ extravagant_ your hair is."

"So, the spirit has more soul than I do?"

"Yup!"

"Well that's hardly right!"

"Nu-uh~ The spirit has lived muuuuuch longer than you and seen so much more than you. Now he doesn't have a physical body his soul manifests strength in the only way it can: hair!"

"That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard!" Ryou turned away and stared deeply into his now empty tea mug.

"You only think it's ludicrous because you're offended," A tanned hand reached forward and stroked Ryou's own white locks. "You've only lived a very short while and look at your hair. It's white. It shows from the moment you were born you were destined to have a big soul. Like the Pharaoh, and like Malik."

"…D-did you just compliment me? Did you just compliment me, Malik, _and the Pharaoh?!" _He gasped in disbelief, but even as he whipped his attention from his mug to the other, Marik's hand fell from his hair, suddenly looking like a very sleepy child. "M-Marik… Are you ok?"

"Hmm… not for much longer…" he mumbled and rested his head against the counter. "Not Marik for much longer… _Malik…"_

Suddenly his eyes were closed and realisation dawned on Ryou; he was asleep! Before the other had a chance to wake up, Ryou darted across the kitchenette to grab the ring and tie it back around his neck. When he turned back to the sleeping Marik, he noticed that the other's hair had deflated, and his body looked much more relaxed. Ryou had never been more pleased in his life to see Malik Ishtar.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooo

**_A/N: To day you learnt your hair is where your soul is kept. Don't question our logic, me and Y!Malik are the epitome of logic._**


	5. Life is like Bad porn

**_Life is like bad porn, it very rarely makes sense_**

"Did you ever find out what happened to the string?" Malik called over the shelf of DVD's to his companion on the other side.

"Nope, he just said it broke while he was making breakfast, that he must of tugged it or something," Bakura grunted, his fingers tracing the spines of various horror flicks. "He's clumsy at the best of times, so I wouldn't be surprised," he added as a quieter afterthought, his eyes roaming the many titles, mostly written in black, white, and red. He made a slight '_tsk_' sound. All so cliché… and he was sure his host owned most of these by now anyway. "Find anything yet?" he asked.

"Nope not yet," Malik suddenly appeared on his side of the shelf. "You should invest in a chain for your ring, like the Pharaoh," he suggested in a tone that was clear he was baiting the spirit.

"I don't want to look like a bloody bondage slave," Bakura retorted, his temper nearing its end with these blasted DVD's. Was it too hard to put a little creativity into a slasher flick nowadays?

"Why not?" the blond was obviously no longer helping him look, his hands now stuffed in his pockets as he leant back, casually regarding the other with that same old amused smirk.

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Why don't I want to look like a bondage slave? Why _would _I?"

"Well, I always assumed that if you ever got your pasty ass into bed, it would involve all those whips and chains, that kind of thing."

Bakura stood up straight and stared at the other with a bemused expression. "What a bloody weird thing to assume, you freak."

"So… you're not?"

"No, I'm bloody not!" the white haired man snapped before turning and walking further up the aisle, towards the 18+ section of the horror flicks. Maybe these would be more promising. Malik just chuckled to himself and followed after the other. However, he focused on the shelf on the opposite side to the horror section.

The two continued their fruitless search for something decent to watch in silence before Malik piqued up again. "Found something." The hint of amusement was not lost on Bakura, who turned around despite himself to study Malik's choice of movie. He eyed the case and title for a moment before gazing back up at Malik with a raised eyebrow.

"Porn?"

"Not just porn!" Malik protested and pointed to the particularly busty woman on the cover. "She's a vampire!"

Bakura continued to stare at the tacky DVD case before plucking it from Malik's tanned hands, having every intention of beating the blond around the head with it, when a much better idea occurred to him. He took the DVD calmly and began to walk back up the aisle to the front of the shop.

Malik blinked and stared after Bakura's retreating figure. "Where are you going?"

"To buy your damned DVD."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooo

"Sexy vampire girls number 4," Malik read allowed from his seat on the sofa. "Dead Daisy and Tanya Von-bites-a-lot," he paused to chuckle slightly, " 'return in their final concluding series. Follow these hot busty vamps as they sit on their fair share of stakes'… Dear Lord." He stared in disbelief at the synopsis on the back of the case while Bakura put the DVD into the player, "Your host might have a heart attack when he finds this, you know that right? God, I hope I'm there to see it…"

Bakura chuckled slightly, making a mental note to leave it in the DVD player when they were finished, "True," he sat besides the blond on the sofa, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and pressing play on the remote. "This may be one of your better ideas Malik. It should at least be good for a laugh,"

Malik chuckled, shifting into a more comfortable position, watching with unveiled amusement as the film started up.

As expected, it involved bountiful amounts of lame puns, plentiful amounts of sickly bright, red fake blood, and not to mention, and scene after scene of awful sex. Malik personally found it all absolutely hilarious. At points Bakura had to pause the DVD while Malik clutched at his sides and gasped for breath through his laughter. People honestly paid for the production of such travesties?  
Malik's amusement of the equally fantastic and yet terrible film was only rivalled by the look of utter contempt or disgust on Bakura's face, which Malik subtly spied from the corner of his eye. He was honestly surprised that Bakura could look so offended by such a trivial, and what he considered hilarious, thing. He had previously thought there was little that could offend the mighty spirit of the Millennium Ring. Since living with him, Malik had discovered between the touchy subject of his host and now his apparent distaste of badly written porn, it was actually all too easy to rustle Bakura's feathers.

"Well, thank God that's over." Bakura turned the DVD off before the credits had time to roll on the scene. Despite the look of distaste Malik had spied throughout the film, Bakura had often laughed or taken a moment to quip in a sarcastic or criticising comment. So Malik got the distinct impression Bakura didn't want to admit his complete distaste for the film for whatever reason.

Before Malik had a chance to reply, Bakura was already up and off the couch, heading to the small kitchenette and rifling through the cupboard for something to eat. "There's hardly anything here; we need to send him shopping again," he mumbled idly.

Malik grinned and turned around on the sofa, laying his hands against the backrest and letting his chin rest on his forearms. "I thought it was fantastic." He turned the conversation quickly back towards the film. "I particularly liked the scene with Dead Daisy and the farm boy and the riding crop. Don't you agree—" He was cut off as Bakura slammed a cup onto the kitchen top a little harsher than necessary and started to pour himself a drink. Malik raised his eyebrow in curiosity, despite Bakura's obvious dislike for the topic, Malik carried on. "Or Von-bites-a-lot! Every scene with her was just golden~"

Bakura stared up at Malik, not yet replying. His hard eyes watched the blond with an oddly scrutinising look before he drank from his now full cup. When he finished, he placed the cup down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, now wearing his characteristic smirk. "Oh Malik, I never realised just how perverse you are."

Malik blinked and sat up a little straighter. "Perverse? Hardly! I simply found the idea of the whole film completely absurd."

Bakura chuckled. "Surely. That certainly explains your _drooling _over the dark haired vampire woman."

Malik felt his left eye twitch in mild irritation. "I was not. She isn't even my type," he said in a short and cold manner, which only fuelled Bakura's own amusement.

"Oh? And what _is _your type Malik?"

Malik only took a moment to hesitate in his reply, for some reason his normal flow of biting remarks had suddenly gone dry, and it was only a moment Bakura needed to start laughing at his expense.

"What on earth are you laughing at?" Malik snapped. His good mood was now completely ruined.

"You of course," Bakura chuckled. "You're like an early adolescent. So under experienced. That tomb really must have been suffocating,"

"You're one to talk." For some reason, Malik had stood up now and walked until he was on the other side of the counter from Bakura, his hands planted firmly on his hips. "3000 years and you still don't know what _you _want," Malik's growing frown was suddenly replaced with his own smirk. "O-ho, I stand corrected. It's your little host isn't it?"

This time it was Bakura's turn to throw a glare in Malik's direction. If it hadn't been for the counter top between them, Malik was pretty sure that Bakura would have swung at him like he had the other day. "I honestly don't know where you've gotten this absurd impression that I am _infatuated _with my host."

"Oh, surely you do, Bakura~" Malik's smirk only continued to grow. "Tell me, have you ever touched yourself in front of a mirror?"

Bakura suddenly lurched over the counter to grab at Malik, but the blond quickly evaded the attack with a sudden step back. He laughed as Bakura seethed, gripping the counter tightly where he had failed to grab the Egyptian boy. He then pushed off the plastic surface and rounded the counter.

Malik's laughter died down, however the grin stayed on his face as he stepped back from Bakura. "Really you are _so _touchy~" he continued. "You won't let me in your—_his_—room, you won't let me touch him, or talk to him, or heaven forbid anything bad may happen to him!" He put his hand on his cheek, his face now a picture of mock concern for the host in question. "But quite rightly! He is such a fragile little cotton ball,"

Bakura growled before leaping forward and this time Malik wasn't so lucky. Bakura's fingers clutched at the thin material of Malik's top and the blond instinctively tried to pull away.

"Touchy, touchy!" He laughed despite now trying to push the other away.

"You are _dead _this time, tomb keeper!" the spirit growled, momentarily losing grip on Malik's shirt and giving him enough time to dart through the lounge. Malik briefly considered disappearing to his own room, waiting to see if Bakura would try and claw his way through the door with his own bare hands, but another much more appealing idea came to mind.

He reached the spirit and host's shared room in a moment flat, throwing the door open and darting inside. He took only a second to look around before Bakura was grabbing him from behind, his arms crossing over Malik's chest and then they were both falling forward, luckily onto the host's bed.

Malik was greeted with a mouthful of pillow, and he grunted in annoyance, trying to push Bakura off of him. "Your host isn't as light as he looks," he grunted. However, there was no reply from Bakura, no growls, no yelling, no nothing at all. Bakura remained on top of Malik, his arms wrapped tightly around the Egyptian boy, crushing the other between him and the mattress.

"…Um, hello? Bakura? If you're not going to attempt to beat the shit out of me, could you get off?" To his utter surprise, Bakura's arms unravelled around him, and his weight did lift slightly but not all the way. Malik could still feel the other's knees on either side of his own thighs, but he now had enough room to turn over onto his back, which he did.

He stared up at Bakura with a quirked eyebrow, and considered pushing the spirit off and leaving him to stir in his own anger, but there was something off about Bakura's expression. Malik took his time to read Bakura frequently; he was a particularly thrilling being, and Malik's time spent living with him meant he had witnessed and memorised every expression and prelude to aggravation that the spirit had. However… he'd never seen the spirit like this before.

"Earth to Bakura?"

"Would you shut up, for once?" Bakura's hand was suddenly cupping Malik's face Before Malik had time to acknowledge that first weird action, another followed soon after.

Bakura's lips pressed against Malik's in a none-to-gentle way and took advantage of Malik's slack jaw to push his tongue past his lips. The hand that wasn't cradling the side of Malik's face slipped underneath the blond and hoisted him up off the mattress until their chests were pushed tightly together.

Malik was one not often taken off guard and was _never _taken advantage of, so as quickly as the kiss begun his own tongue met Bakura's, ensuing a fight for dominance, his own hands wrapping around Bakura's waist. The battle never had a victor because just as the kiss was deepening Bakura let out a low groan and pulled away, his lips only a hairs breath from Malik's.

"I know _exactly _what I want," he said shortly and suddenly his arms were retreating and brushing away Malik's hands. The second weight on the bed lifted and the door shut behind Bakura's retreating form. It took another moment for Malik to sit up in the bed, staring at the now closed door. For once in his life, Malik was indeed rendered utterly speechless.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 

**_A/N: you know you would all watch that porn movie. _**


	6. We're all acute, little dolls

**_We're all acute, little dolls. With painted faces and china hearts._**

Bakura was either very annoyed with Malik or avoiding him, Ryou had yet to decide. For some reason, he'd been in control of his body almost constantly in the last day or so. But whenever he begun to dwell on _why _Bakura had granted him this freedom, the spirit would quickly snap at the notion that he would ever have any reason to avoid _anyone. _So Ryou had soon stopped questioning the matter and instead took the time to go shopping, do his winter holiday homework, and even managed to contact Joey via the Internet to find out how everything was going in America. He had received a brief explanation, but Ryou remained pretty clueless… Something about an Australian bike gang?

_Idiots. Don't they know where the real enemy is?_

Ryou rolled his eyes at the spirit's interruption. "You should be happy they haven't even realised you're _back," _Ryou responded and realised far too late that he had spoken out loud

From across the room, Malik's lavender eyes peered over the edge of his book with a quirked eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"O-oh… Sorry I was um… speaking to _him." _He tapped the side of his head and noticed as Malik's face briefly contorted into one of irritation before returning to his normal careless expression, and his eyes fell back down to his book.

_Honestly, Landlord, if you go around speaking to yourself people are going to think you're mad. _The voice inside his head chuckled, sending vibrations through his mind.

_Think I'm mad? _He thought back._ You imply that I'm not._

Bakura laughed again at this, and Ryou couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips. It was rare for Bakura to talk so casually with him, with so very few insults, and needless to say Ryou enjoyed any pleasant company, no matter where it came from.

"I'm sorry," Malik spoke from his chair again. "Would you two like some privacy?"

The smile was quickly wiped off Ryou's face, and he shook his head, feeling a little foolish.

_Tell the drama queen to mind her own business._

_Why can't _you _tell him?_

_Because I don't feel like it, Landlord._

Malik frowned as he watched Ryou's eyes space out again, in that annoying way he did when he was speaking to the pestering voice in his head. Malik grit his teeth, not bothering to hide his annoyance. His patience with the spirit was really beginning to run dry. Suddenly, he slammed his book shut, and Ryou's eyes snapped back into focus, looking a little startled.

"I'll leave the _lovebirds _to their idle chatter, shall I?"

"Say that one more bloody time, Malik!"

"My god!" Malik clutched his chest. "So you _are _alive. I was beginning to wonder,"

"Honestly, Malik, jealously is not an attractive look,"

"Jealousy?" Malik let out a short and humourless laugh, "I don't know the meaning of the word."

Bakura rolled his eyes, pushing aside his host's laptop and putting it on the coffee table in the centre of the room, acutely aware of Malik's eyes watching him. But this was nothing new; he was always aware that Malik was watching.

"Where have you been? Is the inside of Ryou's head particularly interesting?"

"Huh," Bakura looked momentarily intrigued. "You used his name. You never use his name."

"What?" Malik suddenly flinched and grabbed the side of his head, as a spike of pain seemed to poke him from behind his eyeballs.

Bakura leaned forward on the sofa. "…You alright?" Despite how hard he tried, concern still seeped through in his voice.

"Fine," Malik grumbled, rubbing his head. "Just another headache,"

"…Any sign of _him?"_

"No," Malik said shortly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was behind this, though," he sighed and leaned back in his arm chair. "So, why have you been avoiding me?"

"Needed some space, to think. I think I have a plan for when that wretched Pharaoh comes back. And considering I seem to have plenty of time on my hands, it seems most probable."

Malik's curiosity was caught now. "Oh? Do tell."

"A dark RPG—"

Malik raised his hand, swiftly cutting off the spirit. "Hold it. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you already try that, and didn't it all go horribly wrong?"

Bakura frowned. "Have you ever heard of trial and error? I'm not a _super villain, _Malik. I can't afford to waste time on elaborate schemes for the sake of _variety."_

"No, but you'll waste time on a plan that's already been beaten."

"I'm going to _improve it," _Bakura growled. "The Pharaoh won't know it's a game, not to start with."

"Sounds needlessly complicated."

"More needlessly complicated than mind control, poisoned pills, and crates of _dynamite?"_

"…I'll admit that wasn't my best plan," the Egyptian admitted.

"Actually, Malik, the sad thing is, it probably was one of your best. And it was still awful," Bakura continued to criticize.

"I'm sorry, not all of us can sit around all day playing with _dolls."_

Bakura started laughing, and Malik rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"What are you laughing about _now?" _he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bakura took a moment until he was able to speak through the laughter. "You… you are simply the worse 'reformed' villain, ever."

Despite himself, Malik smirked in response. "And I pride myself on that fact."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 

Ryou was in utter bliss.

Bakura very rarely allowed Ryou to take off his Ring without receiving an earful about it later, but when he did, Ryou was greeted with an exhilarating feeling of _freedom. _It was a feeling he chose to indulge in, on occasion.

You see, since owning the ring Ryou had soon learned a few things about said ancient artefact. One, Bakura _wasn't _completely restricted to the ring. In times of dire need, Bakura can and_ will _use Ryou's body without the necessary aid of the millennium item, however he was loathed to do so. Two, the ring always, _always, _comes back. Three, bath times are much more enjoyable without a secondary pair of eyes, watching. Bakura, somewhere along the line, had decided that such a small virtue to such a very useful host wasn't really too much to ask, and soon had agreed bath times were strictly 'Ryou time'.

Ryou thoroughly enjoyed himself during this time, taking as long as he could with his actual bath. He then treated himself to snacks and TV while the Bakura was none the wiser in his ring… It was the closest Ryou had gotten to rebellion since Duellist Kingdom, and it was a small victory in his on-going war with his parasite.

He let out a puff of breath, watching the steam coming off the water and into the frigid December air. Even with all the doors and windows closed, the apartment was still fairly cold at the best of times. Ryou allowed himself to wonder, deep in his own thoughts. It's no surprise that Ryou's mind mostly consisted of the spirit. Between his games and keeping up with the apartment, Ryou didn't really have much else to think about, so as ever he let his mind ponder over the spirit's existence, over memories and conversations and how their host/parasite relationship had vastly changed since the events of Battle City. Although Ryou was slow to admit it, he was feeling less like a hostage in Bakura's plans and more like an idle tool. He used to fight back, to protest and argue but… he was finding the need to do so less and less. He'd even shared in idle chatter with the apparent 'villain,' and Ryou's black and white world was now a very foreboding shade of grey…

Knock.

_Smash._

Ryou jolted from his comfortable slumped position in the bathtub, the water swirling around him and threatening to spill over the edge. He stayed completely still, straining his ears for any other sounds from the apartment. When he heard none, he eventually called out.

"Malik?" There was no response, and after a prolonged moment of waiting, Ryou sighed and got out of the tub, drawing his much loved bath time to an end. "Malik is everything ok?" Still there was no reply, so Ryou reached for both his ring and towel, wrapping the towel around his waist and holding the thread of the string in hand, still loathed to put such an abrupt end to his alone time. He wandered down the short hall and peered around the corner to look into the living space and kitchenette, seeing no sign of Malik. Chewing the inside of his lip, he continued to venture onwards when he spotted the remnants of an amber bottle smashed on the kitchen tiles. He settled the ring on the counter and leant down to investigate, soon spotting the contents of the bottle.

"Headache pills?" he read aloud. They were his father's strong prescription ones from back when he got awful migraines while doing mass amounts of paper work. Scratching the back of his neck and brushing away a few damp strands of hair, Ryou stood up and reached to grab the ring back. He decided that it was sadly time to get the spirit involved, but his hand only grasped air. He blinked and turned to face the counter to find there was indeed no ring.

His heart began to thud a little unnecessarily fast, and he whipped his head around. Not that there was any real panic; the ring always found its way back to him.

"You should really be more careful with this."

Ryou jumped about a mile when he spotted the tan man leaning casually on the other side of the counter top.

"You scared me half to death!" he gasped, grabbing at his chest. A quick assessment of the man told Ryou he was dealing with _Marik _and not _Malik. _The news was oddly not as unsettling as he would have expected, however the other having the ring again was not exactly a comforting thought either.

"Here." He handed the ring back to Ryou, again seeming strangely casual. Ryou stared at it cautiously before reaching out to take it, as if the other would whip it away again last second. Once he firmly had the ring back in his possession, he stared at the other in confusion.

"Why steal it if you're going to give it back?"

The other gave a lazy shrug. "I dunno, why not?"

"Don't you want it? For some evil diabolical plan that I can't even wrap my head around?"

Marik laughed, and the sound caught Ryou off guard, causing him to jump a little, "Honestly, Ryou. You group me with your damn parasite far too often." He began to explain, "I'm not really feeling the whole 'revenge and revolt' vibe so much anymore." His lazy amusement was wiped off his face, and he turned to the side, looking very distant.

"…Marik?" Ryou called out timidly, the other looking very space out, worrying him slightly. The other seemed to snap back into focus at the sound of his name being used, and a grin stretched across his face. Ryou noted how even the smallest emotion seemed exaggerated on this man's over animated face.

"You said my name!" He looked proudly at Ryou like he were a pet who had learned a new trick.

"W-well…" he mumbled, his thumbs running over the ring clasped in his hand, "you used mine."

Another silence stretched out between them as Marik watched Ryou, as if observing a particularly odd specimen. Ryou was made aware of the fact he was still dripping.

"I-I need to… get changed," he mumbled, the simplicity of their conversation yet again so surreal….He expected something else from a shadow-wielding madman.

"Hm," the other replied and turned away, his eyes roaming across the kitchen cabinets for something to occupy himself with.

Ryou waited another moment. Marik's sudden disinterested struck him as odd, but there was very little this man did that didn't seem weird for one reason or another, so he decided to let it be for now. Turning his back on the other, he headed back to his room, begrudgingly returning the ring to its place around his neck.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

**_A/N: bath time is 'Ryou time' if you know what I mean._**


	7. Libidos and Violence

**_Libidos and violence go together like love and hate_**

"So… Yugi's not around to talk to?"

"I'm afraid not," came Téa's reply through the laptop speakers. She seemed oddly sad and deflated, which was very unlike her, but Ryou wasn't the type to pry.

"Well, ok," he replied, sounding equally as down as her now. "Tell everyone I said hi."

"I will, Bakura, keep safe." She gave a half-hearted smile before the laptop screen went black, and Ryou's room was left feeling deafeningly quiet once more.

With any luck, the little runt got hit by a truck.

"Don't say that…" Ryou mumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

…What are you wearing?

"Huh?" Ryou blinked and his fingers grazed the black frames of his glasses. "Oh. Reading glasses, I thought it would help me see better."

_Our eyesight is fine. Take them off._

_"My _eyesight," Ryou grumbled but took the glasses off despite his annoyance.

Excuse me?

"Nothing," Ryou started to click away on his laptop when suddenly Bakura had appeared beside him in spirit form. Although he should've been used to the translucent nearly-look-alike of himself, he still found it deeply unsettling to see Bakura face-to-face.

_No really, Landlord, would you care to repeat that? _Bakura's tone was dark, something Ryou was not unfamiliar with… but hadn't dealt with in a little while. Bakura had seemed to be in a better mood as of late, but Ryou guessed all good things had to end eventually.

"It's nothing, sorry," he mumbled, trying to sooth the other's temper as his eyes stayed fixated on the laptop screen. His attention was suddenly forced away as he felt a sharp tug on his hair, and he was made to stare at his see-through clone. "_Ah!_"

_Don't talk back to me, _Bakura said in a low voice, ghostly fingers still entangled in his hair.

"O-okay! Let go!" he yelped, feeling his hair straining at the roots. His own hands came up to push Bakura's hand away, but that only helped to annoy the spirit more, so he pulled until Ryou was forced onto his feet.

When did you grow a spine, again? I thought we had sufficiently knocked that out of you.

Ryou couldn't help the frown that formed on his face. Bakura was acting like his old self—but the truth was Ryou _wasn't _his old self. Somewhere along the line both of them had become so subdued with each other. Neither of them fighting or trying to repress one another, but now they were back here, Bakura lashing out at the slightest thing…

"You'd _never _stop me from fighting back," he bit back, almost as a reassurance to himself. He was loyal to Yugi and his friends. Bakura was _the enemy, _and Ryou wasn't his weapon.

He refused to be.

However, Bakura didn't seem to appreciate that.

Ryou felt the back of his head connect with the desk in the same spot Marik had slammed him against the door a week or so ago. He yelped as his back bent backwards painfully, and kicked his legs out to successfully kick the spirit's shins, who growled dangerously at the attack.

Ryou slumped after he collided with the floor, cradling his head.

_Don't fight back, _Bakura's hand clasped Ryou's chin, making him look him in the eye. If Ryou squinted, he could see his chest of drawers through his head. _I have a task for you, Landlord, and you've been so good lately, I thought I could trust you._

Ryou felt a sharp pain burning in his chest, and he cried out, batting Bakura's hand away and then clutching at his t-shirt, now damp with blood.

I need your help, Landlord, so do please behave.

Bakura finished and Ryou was left to stare at his blood stained clothes. He pulled up his t-shirt slowly until he saw the five spikes of the millennium ring digging into his pale flesh.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The door slammed open, and Malik didn't even flinch. He had come to terms with the fact that Bakura couldn't open doors like a normal human being.

"Afternoon~" he replied cheerily, able to feel Bakura's bad mood from the moment he had stepped into the room. "I'm making fish omelettes. Yes, yes, I know you don't like fish, or meat that isn't still bathing in its own blood, but these smell really good—"

"…Are you wearing an apron?" was Bakura's only retort.

"Yes! I bought it today, there's a lot of sales going on right now so this was very cheap."

"You look like an old woman," Bakura snorted before leaning over Malik to stare at his cooking. His bad mood had lifted since his initial entrance, and that surprised Malik to say the least, but what was more disconcerting was the sudden close proximity.

"Hello," Malik tilted his head, their faces only mere inches from each other. "Is there a reason you're visiting my personal bubble today?"

Bakura rolled his eyes, but didn't move away. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes, you smell… of blood." The realisation made Malik's brows knit together. "Been having a little fun?"

Bakura snorted. "Hardly." He moved back from Malik until he stood behind him, and Malik felt his hands drifting down his back, the motion making Malik's lips twitch into a smirk. Well, this was new.

"Bakura," Malik focused on his omelette despite Bakura's impromptu back massage. "I'm cooking,"

"Then _stop _cooking." Bakura's hands drifted low enough to rub small circles into the small of Malik's back before pulling at the poorly done knot of Malik's apron.

"It will burn—" Malik pretended as if the situation didn't interest him in the slightest, keeping his hands and eyes intently focused on the dish before him, even though in truth this was a _highly _interesting development. Of course, he had ran their previous kiss multiple times over in his mind, and not always for analytic reasons. But after their confrontation, he had assumed whatever had spurred in that strange moment was done and dusted—only now did he question why he was so thrilled at being corrected. And yet... "What does one eat with omelettes? I haven't even prepared anything else."

"_Malik,_" Bakura growled dangerously close to his ear, making the Egyptian's smirk grow all the more.

"I'm sorry Bakura, did you want something?" he chuckled, dishing up the now cooked omelette onto a plate, Bakura's hands never leaving him.

"I think I made that plenty clear the other day." Again, the thief was so closed to Malik's ear he could actually feel the breath tickling his hairline.

"You may have to refresh my memory," Malik hummed, setting the now finished omelette on the counter just before he felt Bakura's hands travel down his spine one last time, grabbing at his waist.

"Gladly," was all he said, turning the blond in his arms and smashing their mouths together.

Malik chuckled into the kiss, and Bakura responded with a growl, his hands possessively clawing at Malik's sides as he pushed his tongue into his mouth. As soon as he tried to dominate the kiss, Malik allowed his amusement to finally be pushed aside and wrapped his arms around Bakura's slightly smaller waist. He hoisted him up, one hand slipping under Bakura's thigh.

"Ngh!" Bakura broke from the kiss. "What the bloody hell are you _doing?_"

"Moving," Malik explained once he had enough of a grip on Bakura, he wandered around the counter. Despite Malik being relatively strong, Bakura was no feather, so as they approached the couch, Malik all but dropped Bakura onto the cushions, causing Bakura to growl out a few choice curses. Malik quickly shut him up with his mouth.

Their tongues battled for dominance, but even as their kiss prolonged further than their previous, there was never a clear victor. To Malik, that only made the kiss more fun. They were both constantly warring at each other's mouths, lips, tongues, and teeth involved, attempting to subdue the other, but neither really succeeding.

Malik had sat himself on the sofa between Bakura's legs, one of his legs propped up on the sofa whereas the other remained on the floor to balance himself. Bakura's legs had wrapped themselves around Malik's waist, his heels knocking into Malik's back every now and again as Malik bit a little too hard on his lip, but oddly enough that only encouraged Malik to do it more. Getting a rise out of Bakura was always fun, and this was no exception.

Bakura nipped at Malik's lower lip before soothing over it with his tongue and then drawing back. A whine escaped the blond to his mortification and Bakura's amusement, but a quick glare wiped off that shit-eating-grin on Bakura's face.

"Why'd you stop?" Malik rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Hm? Oh, I'm done." Bakura pushed at Malik's shoulders, signally for him to move out the way.

_"What?!"_ Malik stared at Bakura incredulously. "What do you mean _done?"_

"I mean, we're done here." The grin on Bakura's face was making Malik's nerves rile up. "Isn't your food going cold?"

"Oh, I don't think so." Malik leaned in to capture Bakura's lips again, but the white haired man quickly turned his head to the side, so Malik only caught his jaw. Malik could work with this.

He started planting kisses down Bakura's ivory neck, never having noticed how fair his skin was until now. It was really almost as white as bone, and right now Malik found himself deeply engrossed in that skin. He wanted to taste and feel _all of it. _

"Malik," Bakura groaned, his hands still pressed against Malik's shoulders. However, Malik paid no mind, his lips now taking the time to kiss and suck at Bakura's collar bone, and then he suddenly sunk his teeth in.

Bakura threw his head back as Malik kissed and licked at the now purpling mark, his hands trailing down Bakura's clothed chest, making Bakura hiss for reasons he couldn't fathom right now. He did notice Bakura's hands had started up again working up and down his back, the scarred skin underneath his shirt prickling at the unfamiliar attention.

"You like my back, huh?" Malik breathed between kisses, and Bakura suddenly dug his fingers into Malik's shoulder blades where the carved wings resided.

"No," he growled, his nails digging in tightly. "I fucking _hate _it."

The heat that had been bubbling in Malik's stomach had finally reached boiling point and his lips pulled away from Bakura's pale skin to melt against his chapped lips again, and Bakura took his opportunity to change their positions. He pulled Malik up before pushing him flat against the sofa, their lips breaking apart in the sudden movement. Before Malik had time to register the situation, Bakura was between his legs, raking his nails down his sides, and biting feverishly into his neck. No kisses or soothing licks, only teeth and tongue marking down his throat.

"Hng…" Malik tried to bite back any moans, but now Bakura's hips were _moving _against him. His mask had been completely shattered by the assault of the new and very interesting sensations running through his body.

And he was thoroughly enjoying the attention until he realised something _very bad. _"B-Bakura… Bakura!" His panicked gasp quickly turned into a growl as he tried to push the thief away. But Bakura didn't stop, his hips kept rubbing up against Malik, and his hands rubbed up and down Malik's sides a couple more times before running lower. They ran over his sensitive hip bones and clasped his thighs, pushing the blond's legs further apart. The friction nearly unbearable for Malik, who was suddenly furious about the amount of clothes between them, but there was something much worse at hand.

Despite all his snark and wit, the experiences he'd faced on the surface, and how untouchable Malik acted, it became very clear in that moment; Malik was _far _from experienced.

"A-ah!" he cried out, his fingers digging into Bakura's hair, his breath coming in pants. Bakura kept moving against him a couple more times, drawing out the sudden hit of pleasure that was causing Malik to arch off the sofa like a damn virgin—ah, but wait. That was quite accurate.

Bakura grinned down at the flushed tomb keeper, quite proud that—despite Malik's dark skin—he could still make out a deep blush. He rubbed Malik's thighs a couple more times before leaning down and capturing Malik's lips in a teasing kiss.

_"Now. _We're done."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooo

**_A/N: like a virgin~ touched for the very first time!_**


	8. They're like pot and kettle

_**They're like pot and kettle, calling each other names**_

Ryou's hands ran over his neck for the millionth time.

His skin was pale, almost translucent in the florescent light of the bathroom. Today was bath day, time for Ryou to have his alone time. But once the spirit had left, Ryou had begun to undress, as usual, until he spotted the dark bruises littering his throat.  
He'd naively mistaken them for another one of Bakura's battle scars, assuming the spirit had got into another fight or something equally as awful but upon closer inspection he'd learnt they were bite marks. Love bites. _Hickies._

So again he ran his hands over his pale neck, his bath water long since cold, and the ring lying on the basin unused. Anger was building deep inside of him, a rare and untapped source of rage was leaking out in tiny rivulets, causing his usually indifferent mask to erode and crack.

This was _his _body. The spirit had no right…

"Hostess with the most-est~" a voice cooed from behind the bathroom door, making Ryou's eyes snap around, "you've been in there for way over an hour and I really need to get in there,"

_Malik._

Ryou grit his teeth, the cold anger turning his normally warm eyes into a stony dirty shade. His '_roommate', _who Bakura had recruited and Ryou had often times wondered what Malik's purpose was, staying in his home, but now it seemed all to obvious. Actually, the thought made his cold anger turn almost icy. He approached the door and swung it open, revealing a somewhat startled Malik.

"…What? You haven't even gotten in the bath yet?" Malik seemed oblivious to the angry gaze on Ryou's face at first but soon his usually amused expression fell to one of question. He went to ask what was eating the young host up until he noticed the large bruising marks on the pale skin, and found himself unable to not stare.

"Oh my," a smirk quirked at the blond's lips and Ryou's anger finally reached hypothermic levels.

"Oh _my?" _he echoed in outrage, "how dare you. How dare you touch my body! It's not enough that I have one parasite…"

Malik's shock was barely veiled, he'd never, _ever, _expected to hear Ryou raise his voice, let alone have it aimed at him. And yet despite himself, he couldn't help but find the whole thing a little amusing. Like an angry child, Malik hardly took the Brit seriously.

"Calm down cotton ball, you almost look like Bakura when you get all angry," Malik mocked and watched as Ryou's smooth features creased in anger. Actually, Malik had expected Ryou to look more like Bakura when angry but despite his obvious rage Ryou's features retained their roundness, something that seemed lost when Bakura was in control.

"Get out of my home," the white haired boy suddenly, demanded, "get _out!"_

"Ok, _now _you're over reacting," Malik rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, not having time for such empty threats.

"I'm serious. Get out, _get out!"_ Ryou suddenly reached forward to shove the blond, to empathise his point, but before his hands even reached their target Malik's hands had grabbed both of Ryou's thin wrists and bent them backwards, causing Ryou to cry out in shock.

Almost immediately, Malik felt awful. He forgot he was dealing with the host, not the spirit, and that look of hurt in those usually kind eyes made Malik feel a little sick. Which, it shouldn't have. He had no patience for the fragile little host who Bakura seemed so adamant to protect, especially not when the kid had the fucking gall to try and _shove him. _

"You should know how it feels…" Ryou said, barely above a whisper as he tried to pull his wrists back away from Malik's grasp, "to have your body used, hurt, _marked _beyond your control!" his voice had ended in a steady crescendo until he was yelling again and Malik's hold went limp, allowing the host to pull his wrists back.

Malik did know how it felt.

Neither one of them said anything for a moment, Ryou glaring hatefully and Malik frowning in mild annoyance before the Brit finally couldn't take it anymore and walked around the blond, their shoulders knocking against each other rudely, before he disappeared into the confides of his room.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Bakura personally hated 'bath time'. There was no sense of time in the ring so he was often left with no idea how long he was being kept out of the loop. It soon became aware to him that the host probably abused the spirit's small virtue and took longer than needed, but it never bothered him.

He allowed Ryou that one small act of rebellion.

However, the time spent in the ring wasn't completely useless. He had nearly completed the drawn out map of Kemet, ready to place it into Ryou's thoughts for him to start making the actual 3D map, in time for Bakura's final show down against the pharaoh.

Despite what Malik had said about his plan being repetitive Bakura personally found it poetic. Ending the way they started, however this time Bakura would be the one to emerge victorious.

He often wondered what would happen after he defeated the Pharaoh. Would he vanish? Sent to peace with the spirits of his village? Or would the dark gods themselves, place him on a throne for eternity? Reward him? Or would he keep living? Stuck in this host's frail body, with no pharaoh left to vanquish?

All prospects terrified him.

Having lived as long as he had, death was truly daunting. He had lost faith in the solid representations of gods he had known about in ancient Egypt, seeing how easily all those myths and legends were dispelled when applying simple science, but at the same time he still knew such things as shadow magic and the dark God he worked for were all very real.

Maybe that was it though; maybe there was just no light. No good and evil, light and dark, or heaven and hell.

It was in truth much more one-sided than human's liked to believe.

Evil, dark, and hell.

That was all that was left in store for anyone anymore.

He let out a pitiless laugh into the empty ring. As glad as it made him feel to know that all that awaited these simple fools was a bleak and boring eternity, he still yearned to change his own fate. He wanted to draw out this game as long as possible, make it a true spectacle. He wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to relish in the Pharaoh's anger and despair. He wanted to witness that moment when he saw there really was no hope left. He wanted so badly to stay in those moments forever. He wanted to win, but he didn't want the game to end.

The end was far too foreboding, even for Bakura.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was amusing, when Malik was upset.

Marik could literally feel the waves of anger, cascading over one another in a steadily growing storm. His weaker half really had no grasp over his emotions, but if he did, Marik wouldn't even exist, would he?

He watched from their shared mind as Malik paced their bedroom floor, going over reasons and justifications for his anger. How _dare _Ryou talk back to him? How _dare _he try to hit him? How _dare _he compare the two of them?

Malik's anger was usually so well masked nowadays, hidden behind false amusement and dismissive behaviour. The blond always managed to keep an air of nonchalance when dealing with everyone, from his family to his newly acquired roommates Malik put on a flawless performance.

To every person, but the one inside his own head.

Of course Malik knew the shadow of his mind was back but the strength had been so weak, barely existing, in the start, that the blond had barely taken notice. It was merely an inconvenient bump. Marik had not proven to be any danger to anyone and Malik had been too caught up in his newfound lifestyle to give a damn about demons he had long since vanquished.

But, now Marik was getting stronger, able to take over at will and could last much longer in control of their body. The only things that subdued him, had been those infuriating headache pills Malik had found, but the darkness quickly got rid of them. Those pills made him feel weak, faltering and fading. He hadn't liked them at all.

"Argh!" Malik threw a pillow against the wall, pointlessly. It was a rather childish act, like a teenager throwing a tantrum, but it had been enough to bring the darkness's attention back to his weaker half.

The anger Malik was showing was utterly humorous to Marik. Because from his view he could see exactly why he was so wound up.

Because Ryou had been right, the delightful little host, was really quite an interesting specimen and he had caught Malik right in one of his weak points, and now the Egyptian boy was fending off something he wasn't accustomed too; guilt.

Using someone's body, marking it and bending it for your own purposes. Malik knew all about that. No, not from his darker half, as you might assume (although that did play a minor part) it was the marks that had been left on his back, and the scars etched into his mind. Those thoughts and fears that created anger that had created _Marik. _

Malik had used Ryou's body, just as the Pharaoh and his father had used his. As a tool, a vessel, and the guilt was literally driving Malik nuts.

And Marik was becoming all the stronger, because of it.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooo

**_ A/N: because apparently there's a plot in here somewhere._**


	9. There are no alliances, only exceptions

_**There are no alliances, only exceptions. **_

Ryou stared at the ring, watching the metallic eye staring back. He sometimes wondered if Bakura could see through the golden eye on the plate of the ring, at times like this it felt like maybe he could. Ryou definitely felt watched right now, even with the cord of the ring hanging limply between his hands, rather than around his neck. His fingers stroked the thread; it was silkier than the one Marik had cut. It was smooth between his fingers, almost pleasant, which felt contradictory considering it was anything to do with the ring at all.

Anything to do with Bakura.

"I hate you," he whispered into the eye, hoping somehow Bakura could hear him, but that wish was short lived. If Bakura could hear him he would have to deal with his comeback or violent nature and Ryou just couldn't be bothered with either anymore.

With a sigh he pulled the cord over his head and let the ring lay neatly against his chest once more, the recently reopened scars on his chest stinging mildly underneath.

'You hate me? And here I was thinking you'd be appreciative after your blessed bath time.'

"Save it, Bakura," he folded his arms, now staring straight ahead at his bedroom door, "take control already," he was eager to be out of his own body, away from his own emotions.

'…What's wrong?' There was a moment of hesitance before the spirit spoke up again and when he did Ryou nearly laughed.

"You almost sound concerned," Ryou gave the door a bitter smile.

'Did you honestly learn nothing, after your last back-chat?'

Ryou tensed up slightly, his eyes widening, "is that what this was? Some kind of punishment for daring to speak back to you?"

'What the bloody hell are you on about, Landlord?'

"Malik!" Ryou exploded for the second time that day, "and you! You… you know what!" he clutched at his chest, the open cuts burning painfully, "I can understand this kind of torment! But why… why do you have to use my body in every single kind of way? It's not fair!"

Again the spirit remained quiet, hesitating to answer. Ryou kept glaring hatefully at the door in front of him, grasping at the aching wounds on his chest. He opened his mouth to continue shouting at the spirit but just as he did the world begun to blur.

"No...!" he gasped, his hand going from his chest to his head, "You won't push me out, not when I'm talking to you! You won't sto-…" Bakura huffed when he'd resumed control and took a moment to flatten down the crumpled t-shirt.

He walked towards the door that had been at the brunt of Ryou's changing temper, and opened it, walking into the lounge where he saw Malik, who was once again led upside down on the sofa, but this time the book he had apparently been reading was opened up and rested on his face.

"…The hell, Malik?"

The blond jumped and sat up, the book falling into his lap. He stared at Bakura and looked somewhat relieved, "where the hell have you been? Your host has been having an emotional break down or something equally as melodramatic,"

Bakura placed one hand on his hip and grabbed the ring in the other, staring at it in a similar way that his host had been moments before. "What did you do?"

Malik's mouth opened, agape. "What did I do? I just needed to use the fucking bathroom!" the blond protested and swivelled around so he was sat on the sofa normally, "he got all pissy when he saw all the..." he waved his hand near his neck, "y'know,"

Bakura blinked and dropped the ring, his hand darting to his neck. He looked momentarily shocked before dawning realisation crossed his face, "…damn it," he groaned and the hand on his neck trailed up to cover his face, "I knew we should have stopped when I said…"

Malik frowned, "about that, why did…" he hesitated, not sure how to phrase his own question, "why did you want to stop? Before either of us had even done anything,"

Bakura glared through the gaps between his fingers, "in case you're forgetting this isn't my body, Malik,"

The Egyptian let out an aggravated sigh and threw his hands in the air, "Oh but of course! It is your precious host's… can't dare mark or hurt the little cotton ball,"

Bakura snapped his hand away from his face, gritting his teeth, "fucking stop it already, I don't care about his well being! In fact it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if the damn sobbing teenage wasn't around!"

"Then get rid of him!"

There was a tense moment in the apartment after that, in which Bakura glared venomously and Malik reached up to cover his own mouth. It wasn't what the Egyptian had said that had caused them both to pause in their argument but rather the voice that had erupted from Malik's mouth hadn't been Malik's voice at all.

"If you two pathetic cowards don't want the boy, get rid of him," the voice continued on, behind Malik's hand, "Malik has thought about it; smothering the kid with his own pillow or dropping some pills in his morning tea~ neither of you want him around so kill the body and hope the thief's spirit is strong enough to cling on to a corpse!" the voice suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, but despite the sick glee coming from his mouth, Malik's eyes looked far from amused, in fact he looked utterly distressed.

"Malik I thought you said everything with this was fine," Bakura continued to glare, not entirely sure which side of Malik's mind Bakura was most pissed off with.

"Oh~ Malik says a lot of things, doesn't he?" the voice continued on, "don't take offence, Thief, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what is a lie and what isn't when it comes out of his own mouth. A mismatch of mind games and justifications all trying to hide how utterly weak he feels without the grasp of gold between his fingers—ggahhh nngg…shut up!"

"Malik"  
Purple eyes swivelled up to meet Bakura's, a whirlwind of lavender fighting between distress and fury.  
"What?" He growled between clenched teeth, moving from the sofa, still with an iron grip on his face and pulling tightly on his bangs.  
"What do you mean what?" The spirit seethed back, "it's blatantly obvious tall, dark and scary is getting stronger, if he's able to take control at will-"  
"It's not at will!" The blond was pacing up and down the lounge, "it's when I'm angry, so do me and favour... And stop pissing me off!"  
Bakura clamped his mouth shut, his own anger bubbling as Malik spoke to him like an ignorant fool, but also realising it probably was best for him to keep quiet until the blond had significantly calmed down.  
Eventually Malik fell back onto the sofa, cradling his own head like a mother cradles a new born. Silence stretched out for an uncomfortable while until Bakura, too, plopped himself onto the sofa.  
"... I really thought he was gone," Malik mumbled only just loud enough for Bakura to hear.  
"Well, he's not." Bakura pointed out the obvious, "so... What are you going to do?"  
"Get rid of him again," Malik sat up straight, once again gaining his dignity and pride. His face turning back to its usual unreadable mask, no hint or trace of the near breakdown Bakura had witnessed.  
"Well, that's the idea. But what's the plan?"  
"I'm going to call my sister," Malik announced rather suddenly and moved from the sofa before the words had even had a chance to sink in.  
"...what!?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ishizu felt that since first stepping onto the surface she had been living in a dream... Or nightmare, depending on the circumstances. Between Malik's running away, plans of world destruction, and chasing both her brother's all away around the world in a desperate attempt to stop them, well, that had most certainly a nightmare. Whereas meeting the Pharaoh, saving her siblings and returning to Egypt as a now highly regarded historian... This all felt like a dream. Of course things were never simple. Once again her life seemed dictated by her troublesome gender, and although the American and European museum sponsors regarded her with respect, there were still a lot of the Arabic leaders who remained sceptical. But she didn't let that stop her. She focused on her job, bouncing information and artefacts between Egypt and the large museums of the world. Her valued and unique knowledge of the Tombs in which she lived were held in high regard and Ishizu herself was beginning to win over more than a few of the board member respect.  
"Ishizu," a voice called from the hallway and a small brunette popped her head around the corner of the door, "you have a phone call,"  
Ishizu blinked and looked up from the scripts she had been going through in the large dusty archives.  
"For me?" She asked, unsure, and the girl laughed a little at Ishizu's shock.  
"Yep, for you," the girl, Taja, clarified, and Ishizu finally pulled herself from the floor, climbing over several boxes and followed Taja down the hall to one of the main offices where the phone was lay on its side, waiting for her.  
"Hello?"  
"Sister,"  
Ishizu whipped around, as if she'd find her brother stood behind her, but she quickly regained her senses.  
"Malik... Is everything ok?" Her emotions had gone from panic to excitement to confusion and back to panic in three seconds flat.  
"Well enough," Malik did indeed sound 'well enough' so Ishizu had no real reason to remain concerned and yet she couldn't help but still feel jittery. Her brother had hardly called her once since he announced he would be staying in Domino.

Well… 'announced' was not really the word for it.

On the day of their flight to Cairo the youngest Ishtar had simply never gotten on the plane. Ishizu had been furious and terrified and if not for Rishid by her side she was sure she would have had a breakdown. But luckily as soon as they touched ground on the other side Malik had contacted her and told her Domino is where he needed to be. He couldn't go back to Eygpt, he was still trying to find his feet and avoid falling into another more figurative but just as restricting tomb. So… she let him.

He made her promise not to tell a soul, not even the Pharaoh, and although that did nothing to calm her warring nerves she had agreed, Rishid too. And ever since she had heard not a word from her brother, until now.

"Ishizu, I have an issue that I need your help with, is there anyone around you?"

Ishizu looked around the vacant office, the only person was Taja waiting in the doorframe, who Ishizu politely waved her hand at, for her to leave.

"No, no one at all. Is everything ok?"

"I am sure it's nothing, but, I've been staying with Ryou Bakura lately—"

"You've been staying with Bakura?"

"The host, yes, please do try not to interrupt Ishizu I don't know how much this call is costing. Anyway, he has been having some headaches recently, trouble with sleep, mood swings, among other few details. I think the spirit may be trying to make a comeback, is there anything you would suggest I do to assure that Ryou can protect himself?"

Ishizu hesitated, biting on her lip. She was torn between worry and relief. She was glad that it was not a personal affliction on her brother but she was not sure how she felt about him being alone with Ryou Bakura if the spirit did indeed make a come back. Eventually she sighed, wrapping her fingers in the coiled phone wire.

"there are a few meditation techniques you can try to clear his mind. You'll need a wax candle and… um, hold on, get a pen and paper," she instructed and waited while her brother rooted around for said items and then she finished off listing the items and the instruction he would need to follow, "that should be everything, do let me know how to goes. Ok, Malik?"

"I will, thank you sister," and with that he hung up, and Ishizu was left to untangle her hand from the curled up phone wire, while also trying to unravel her now tangled mind.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

**_Malik, you just explained all the symptoms of a period._**


	10. Count but not lost

**_Count but not lost, which is my greatest gain_**

"To the left," Malik instructed, squinting at the piece of paper in his hands, "wait no… the right,"

"For the love of God! Give me that!" Bakura snatched the piece of paper out of tanned hands and glared at it in vein before letting out a frustrated groan, "this isn't right, Malik, we shouldn't be mixing the two rituals together,"

"Ishizu's meditation idea is too meek," Malik repeated his reasoning for the hundredth time, "she thinks we're merely warding off some lingering memories—"

"And that's not what we're doing?" Bakura chimed in.

"No. It's stronger than just memories," Malik snapped, "he's back and I want him gone, so we're being as thorough as possible,"

"Yes, and mixing ancient Egyptian magic with one of Ryou's occult voodoo books is very thorough,"

"Oh shut it," Malik grabbed one of the wax candles and hurled it at Bakura's head, "you use this shit all the time, mixing it with the power of the ring, don't tell me you don't approve,"

"I use the millennium ring to fuel them, I do not, never have, and would think it foolish, to depend on voodoo alone, even my Landlord would tell you that," Bakura explained indignantly before having the paper snapped back from his grasp.

"The left, I was right the first time," Malik mumbled, moving the pot of incense himself, making sure it lined up neatly on the chalk drawing on the kitchen tiles, "lastly… we need a sacrificed calf,"

"Got it," Bakura stood up and walked towards the fridge before bringing out a rather large cut of sirloin steak.

Malik stared dumbfounded at the plate then at Bakura, "Really?"

"…Well where else do you propose I find a freshly killed baby cow in the middle of Domino City?"

"I was going to cook that…" Malik begun to continue his protest but shook his head and disregarded it, waving for Bakura to settle it down in the middle of the ring, "fine, fine, it will do,"

"So what's the drill if this all goes horribly wrong?"

"It's not going to go 'horribly wrong'," Malik's voice went up a pitch or two mimicking Bakura on the last two words, before unfolding the second piece of paper and placing it on the floor and lining it up with the first.

"Ok, so I think we should read Ishizu's chant first, followed by the incantation, that way it should relax my mind and soul, and you can use this to banish whatever remains—"

"So now I'm the one doing the voodoo?" Bakura cocked a disapproving eyebrow.

"For gods sake you're a spirit who depends on shadow magic to even exist. You wear the cursed emblem of the pharaoh around your neck, stop being a baby about a bit of voodoo!"

"…What did you just call my ring?"

"Oh, shut up!"

In truth, Bakura was merely picking fun. Malik's nerves were riled beyond belief and Bakura couldn't help but poke him, like a curious child and an injured tiger, he wanted to see how far he could push. Which was stupid, he knew, considering what lay beneath the vault of Malik's anger, but still, he couldn't resist the fiery look Malik got in his eyes when he was all hot and bothered…

Before Bakura was even aware of it, Malik had begun chanting the first part, speaking in ancient Egyptian, as fluently as one would expect a native speaker of the dead language. It was short lived, and nothing much happened, except Malik gave Bakura a pointed look to start reading his part of the chant, which he did without hesitation. His part of the chant came a little more stiffly, the words not a language that came naturally to either of them, but soon he had forced out every peculiar word, and they sat in silence awaiting any obvious effect.

And there was none.

The candles continued to burn, Malik continued to stare ahead expectantly and the steak stayed in the middle of the chalk-lined ring, looking very tasty to Bakura. In fact the only obvious difference in the small kitchen was that it had begun to smell very nice due to the various pots of incense…

They waited quite some time, Malik had even taken to closing his eyes and holding his hands open on his lap in a vein attempt to provoke any sort of magic to take its toll on him but—

"This. Is. Bullshit."

Suddenly the blond leapt up, kicking over a pot of incense in his sudden movement, and smearing a large part of the ring. He then proceeded to walk out of the small kitchenette, through the living room, and stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Bakura shuffled, his shins feeling numb from sitting on the tiled floor for so long.

"Malik!" he called out and there was a muffled cry behind the bedroom door.

"What?!"

"Can I eat the steak?" to which the blond begun throwing things against his bedroom door. The spirit flinched, reaching forward and picking up the steak and moving it to the counter. It was more than obvious it was never going to work, but he thought he might as well humour him.

He got out two plates, deciding for once he could force himself to cook a meal, (and for a steak this big he was quite happy to oblige). He begun to cut up the large slab of meat into two chunks, listening to Malik's constant tantrum beyond the walls, when there was a sudden dull thump followed by silence.

Bakura looked up, briefly wondering if he should check on the blond… but at the same time he didn't fancy being attacked by flailing pieces of bedroom furniture. He waited a moment longer and the silence continued, growing all the time filling Bakura's gut with a tedious foreboding feeling.

With a disgruntled sigh he left his dear steak alone and walked to Malik's bedroom, knocking on the door once, before it was flung open and two tanned hands wrapped around his neck, forcing him back until he collided roughly with the adjacent wall.

He managed to regain his senses enough to noticed two wild purple eyes staring at him from a twisted, grinning face, before he was hurled down to the floor, face first.

He pushed himself up with his forearms, choking to get his breath back, just as he felt those same hands were now grabbing his ankles and dragging him across the carpeted floor.

He clawed at the ground, trying to gain back some form of control, furious that he had been taken off guard so easily and now was being helplessly dragged along. He kicked out frantically but the other was simply stronger than him, and once again he found himself cursing this meek, pale, body in which he was forced to reside.

Eventually he was dropped down, onto the tiled floor of the kitchen, right in the middle of the now vastly smeared chalk ring.

He wasted no time in turning himself onto his back, preparing himself to jump up and attack his assailant but before he could a large foot slammed down on his chest, causing the breath to wheeze out of him.

"Good evening, thief," the sneering face was brought closer when the towering figure chose to lean forward, and Bakura once again found himself face to face with the shadow of Malik's mind.

"You bastard—" he gasped out, hands suddenly darting forward to grab the foot that was crushing his chest and attempting to force it off, which it did, all too easily, because before Bakura knew it the shadow was willingly moving down, to straddle him.

"Marik," a large tanned hand grabbed the front of Bakura's head before pulling it up and slamming it against the tiled floor, "my name is Marik."

The world grew hazy, Bakura's vision feeling like it was literally being knocked out of focus. He groaned, feeding off his anger to try and find and use whatever mere strength this damn body had.

"And I'm not going anywhere, no silly ritual is going to change that," Malik's shadow sneered, his hand running down from Bakura's forehead and cupping the side of his face, "I quite like it here, with a personal punching bag," the hand that hadn't been grasping Bakura's head suddenly punched him harshly in the stomach, "a thoroughly entertaining mind to reside in," he tapped the side of his head, "and… not to mention, the company," with that he leaned down the rest of the way, until his lips were literally brushing against Bakura's, his hand coming up to pull loose the thread of the millennium ring, "Right, Ryou?"

But before he could Bakura's hand had darted sideways, grabbing the first thing he could, which happened to be one of the incense jars, and then brought it smashing against the side of the shadow's face, causing the Egyptian to curse, and giving Bakura enough time and leverage to shove him off and scuttle back across the room, then jump up, grabbing the steak knife he had been using prior to the attack, and pointed it down at the blond, who was cradling his now bleeding head.

Bakura spared no time in moving again, while the blond was distracted. He moved over lightening quick, grabbed the back of his collar and pressed the knife against the tan skin of the other's neck.

The shadow merely chuckled in response, "as if you'd really slit his throat..."

"For the sake of ridding myself of you, it's painfully tempting," Bakura growled, pressing the knife closer into his neck and this time actually earning a gurgled noise of protest, however, the blond continued on.

"You don't have the guts," he laughed, although it sounded strained due to the knife pressed up against his gullet.

"I've killed hundreds before what makes you think you're even the slightest bit different?" Bakura growled impatiently.

"Beeecauuussseee it's not just me in here," he tilted his head side to side, consequentially causing the blade to slice into his neck, "like it or not Malik staying here has proven quite helpful. Besides the copious amount of flaws in all your master plans it is nice to know you're also prone to self sabotage,"

Bakura let out a low and dangerous noise before raising his foot up and kicking the blond to the floor, face first. The Egyptian begun to cackle, the blood from his head down smeared down his face. He whipped around to stare up at the thief, his shoulder's quaking with his continued laughter.

"Caring about someone, anyone! Is a weakness, you have too much pride for yourself, too much protection for your host and not to mention what ever complicated relationship you seem to be forming with the lesser side of my mind!"

Bakura snorted in disbelief, "all inaccurate observations. You couldn't be further from the truth,"

"Oh? Is that so-o..." he paused for a moment, looked shocked before another low, but more restrained, chuckle escaped him, "looks like my time is up... Have fun tending to the w-o-ounds..." With that purple eyes rolled back, until Bakura could only see the whites of Malik's eyes. His whole body shuddered before deflating and falling face first onto the tiled floor, with a sickening crack.

Bakura threw the knife aside before kneeling down and pulling Malik up onto his lap. The cuts from the incense pot on the side of his head were the worst; his nose was possibly bruised but not broken from the collision with the floor, and the cut on his throat had broke the skin but it wasn't even bleeding profusely. He gave a relieved sigh before trying to bundle the blond into his arms. It took him a while, and he struggled a great deal, but eventually he managed to get the unconscious boy from the kitchen into the lounge, and once again Bakura found reason to be frustrated with the limited capability of his current body.

He regarded Malik's still form and despite himself felt a well of anxiety rising up, unsure with how far Malik's injuries went considering he still had not woken, and with frustration the thief realised he didn't even know where his host kept the first aid kit, normally when their vessel was hurt or injured he left it up to Ryou...

_'Landlord,'_ he suddenly activated their mind link _'I need your help'_

_oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

**_A/N mixing magic is bad, m'kay?_**

**_Also 99% of this was written on public transportation. Yes._**


End file.
